


a little christmas right this very minute

by vavafroome (spaceboy_niko)



Series: twelve days of ficmas [9]
Category: Cycling RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, christmas anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceboy_niko/pseuds/vavafroome
Summary: on the ninth day of christmas, mathieu van der poel panics.
Relationships: Wout van Aert/Mathieu van der Poel
Series: twelve days of ficmas [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045978
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	a little christmas right this very minute

**Author's Note:**

> i unknowingly channelled my own relationship dynamics in this. can we get fs in the chat for inadequacy issues  
> t for swears obvs
> 
> (title from we need a little christmas)

"Woutje?"

"Mm?" Wout is reading emails at the kitchen table while Mathieu dries plates from dinner.

"Remind me who we’re celebrating Christmas with?"

"I think we're going to your family," Wout says confidently, opening up his group chat with the van der Poels.

Mathieu frowns, slinging the dish towel over his shoulder and peering at Wout's messages. "I thought we were going to _your_ family."

Wout scrolls back through their chat frantically, but they're a very chatty family, and so he just searches for 'Christmas', hoping for some plans to reveal themselves.

"We're doing Christmas with your family-"

Mathieu nods, satisfied, and heads back into the kitchen.

"-and we're hosting."

A wooden spoon clatters to the floor.

"We're doing _what?_ "

"We're hosting. Christmas dinner. Us, your parents, your brother, and I think his partner. Nothing major."

"Nothing major?" Mathieu splutters. "Are you kidding?"

Wout laughs, nudges Mathieu aside to put his glass in the sink. "It's going to be fine, Mathieu. You worry too much."

Mathieu finishes putting the dishes away, frustrated. Of course Wout isn’t worried. Wout is the perfect potential son-in-law - Mathieu sees the way his father dotes on Wout whenever he comes over, conveniently forgetting the years he was Mathieu’s worst enemy. Wout can cook, he makes sure their house is spick and span, he talks effortlessly and he remembers things, dammit. Mathieu’s got a brain like a sieve and is always in a panic until Wout nudges him gently in the direction of actually doing something, please.

Wout knows something’s up when Mathieu is late to bed, trying to be quiet in the dark, crawling into bed and lying there awake and restless.

“Matje?” he whispers sleepily.

Mathieu rolls over to face him. “Yeah?”

“Everything alright?”

Mathieu sighs. “I don’t know. I’m thinking about Christmas.”

“What about it?”

“I want to be helpful, Wout,” he says, suddenly and quietly. “I don’t care if it’s just a little, I want to be useful.”

“I never said you couldn’t be,” Wout says soothingly. “I’ll see what I need you to do, okay?”

“Okay,” Mathieu says, and rolls back over again.

* * *

A week before Christmas, Wout goes for a ride early in the morning. Mathieu is still asleep when he leaves, and so he writes a note - a good morning, an I love you, and the beginnings of a list.

When he gets back home, taking off his shoes and helmet and leaving them by the door, there’s music playing from the living room and a faint smell of cleaning products. He finds Mathieu in the hallway, dragging a mop over their hardwood floors.

“Well, look at this, Mathieu van der Poel finally earning his keep around here,” Wout quips, and Mathieu rolls his eyes.

“Another step, van Aert, and you get the mop,” he threatens, unable to keep a straight face.

Wout waits for Mathieu to finish the last few feet of the hall, and accepts the soft kiss Mathieu leaves on his jaw.

“I haven’t cleaned the kitchen yet because we’re probably going to make a mess, is that okay?” Mathieu sounds like he’s searching for approval, and Wout gives it to him in the form of a tight hug, the kind that totally envelops Mathieu and calms him, like a blanket.

Wout feels Mathieu smile against his shoulder, and hears a slightly-muffled “Christ, Woutje, you stink.”

* * *

Over the week, Wout keeps leaving lists for Mathieu, and Mathieu takes great pride in crossing things off.

Wout orders a turkey over the phone, and Mathieu decides against riding to collect it, uncomfortable with the idea of trying to cram it into his panniers, so he drives with it sitting in the passenger seat beside him.

Wout leaves him in charge of making cookies, and Mathieu breathes a sigh of relief, because that is one thing he can do. They don’t have any mixed spice, much to Mathieu’s disdain, so he makes his own from the ground spices they keep in the pantry. He asks Wout to taste the dough before he leaves it in the fridge, just in case, and has to confiscate the spoon before either of them eat too much of it.

Wout exiles him from the kitchen when it comes to the main dishes, and Mathieu thinks this is fair - he’s never cooked anything as intimidating as a turkey, and wouldn’t even know where to begin with a Yule log, but apparently Wout knows what he’s doing, and naively leaves Mathieu in charge of drinks.

Mathieu calls it 'research'. Wout calls it 'day drinking'. By any name, it's Mathieu drinking too much prosecco at their kitchen table, because he didn't buy enough Aperol to justify drinking spritzes all afternoon.

"Matje," Wout says disapprovingly as Mathieu empties a bottle into his glass.

"Relax, Wout, I'll behave better on Christmas."

Wout frowns. "You know, I still expect you to help out."

"Ah. Shit."

"Mathieu-"

"How are you so calm about this whole thing?" Mathieu blurts, cursing as foam fizzes up over the edge of his glass. "Like, wow, fuck, Woutje."

"What do you mean?" Wout laughs, washing his hands and coming to sit beside Mathieu.

"You're so- you're _capable_. Like, like, how do you do this?"

"You've been helping me, Mathieu, you know that."

Mathieu shakes his head - he's not sure if it's achy from the prosecco or the conversation. "I've just been doing things that you would've done. You could do it without me."

Wout takes his hands, still warm from the water, and gently rubs over the knuckles.

"I want to feel needed, Wout,” Mathieu continues, feeling tears start to prick at his eyes and trying to fight them back. “I want you to be able to say wow, Matje, you did this yourself and I’m proud of you, you know? But you’re not going to be able to say that when I’m panicking this much over doing hardly anything and, and getting drunk at our kitchen table,” he finishes dumbly with a sniffle.

Wout pulls him into a hug, slightly awkward because of the angle of the dining chairs, and holds him there for a while, lets his shirt grow damp under Mathieu’s face.

“I am proud of you, Matje,” Wout says softly. “Not for drinking our prosecco and crying on me-”

Mathieu laughs, wiping his eyes.

“-but I am, really. And it’s stressful, yeah? Shit, I’m stressed too. But it’ll be worth it, and we’ll be spending Christmas together, and everything will be just fine.” Wout gives Mathieu a tighter squeeze, and Mathieu doesn’t let him go just yet.

It’s reassuring to know that Wout’s stressed too - Mathieu lets him steal the last of the prosecco as a thank-you.

* * *

When Mathieu's family begins to arrive, Wout ducks out of the kitchen just long enough to say hello and make small talk. Mathieu has been granted just enough counter space to mix drinks, their good glassware making a rare appearance.

As Wout comes back into the kitchen, he kisses him on the cheek as he goes, and murmurs, “I’m really so proud of you, Matje.”

Mathieu breathes a sigh of relief.

 _Everything is fine_ , he reminds himself. _Everything is fine, and wonderful, and Wout is wonderful._

"I love you," he says out of the blue, delivering Wout one of the last two glasses.

Wout looks pleased and slightly confused, and clinks his glass with Mathieu's.


End file.
